#Joseph svenson

[theoscarsproject]

Heartbreak Ridge (1986). Hard-nosed, hard-living Marine Gunnery Sergeant Tom Highway clashes with his superiors and his ex-wife as he takes command of a spoiled recon platoon with a bad attitude.

One of the reviews here described it as only for the Eastwood faithful, and I feel like that's an accurate description. It's soaked in that Reagan-era jingoistic machismo that makes it eye-wateringly hard to watch at points, and any attempt at - - y'know, any sort of meaningful emotional connection between any of its characters falls pretty flat. Still, some of the insults are genuinely pretty hilarious, so it's got that going for it at least. 3/10.

[esonetwork]

Snowbeast (1977)| Episode 361

New Post has been published on http://esonetwork.com/snowbeast/

Snowbeast (1977)| Episode 361

Clay Sayre joins Jim for a fun look at a 1977 Made-For-TV horror film written by Joseph Stefano (“The Outer Limits”) – “Snowbeast,” starring Robert Logan, Bo Svenson, Yvette Mimieux, Clint Walker and Sylvia Sydney. Something is attacking guests at a Colorado ski resort during its Winter Festival. Is it a bear on a rampage or something worse. Find out on this episode of MONSTER ATTACK!, The Podcast Dedicated To Old Monster Movies.

[despicablediet]

What is even the Priwen? Just a group of bullies that you see in school and instead of humans they ask vampires for their lunch money

Firstly, even in that line of thought, I doubt the bullies (Priwen) would *ask* for the vampires' lunch money. They'd just take it.

And more importantly, since the game doesn't reveal much about Priwen, there are many approaches we can take as to what they are actually like. I tend to go a more favourable approach. Eldritch was a cruel, fanatic bastard and while Geoffrey is hard, he tries to do better for his people. Yes, there are radical people, like everywhere. Yes, they hunt vampires. Yes, awful and disgusting things happen in Priwen because people can be like that. BUT there are good people. I have many Priwen OCs; some are cunts, but the majority just want to help. They try to make the best of the shitty cards they've been dealt. They are struggling, hard, but they aim to make things better, one way or another.

I could now go down a LONG ramble of my OCs. Like Colm Joseph O'Byrne, Mary Poppewell, Lisa Poppewell, Graham Kane, George and Fred Harris, William Silver, Arwi Svenson, Davina De Cock, Sorin Pavel... are they perfect people? Nope. They all made mistakes and poor decisions, have flaws and weaknesses. They aren't black and white when it comes to morals. They all have suffered one way or another, but they are all still trying to make things better.

I think at the end of the day it comes down to if you look at Priwen like "They kill monsters" or "They protect people". Of course, they still do both to some degree, but in my take their focus is to protect people. Humans, that is. God, don't get me started on their various and conflicted relationships with vampires LOL

[docrotten]

SNOWBEAST (1977) – Episode 220 – Decades of Horror 1970s

“I quit being a skier in 1968 because the other skiers were mavericks!” Well, isn’t that special? Join your faithful Grue Crew – Doc Rotten, Bill Mulligan, Chad Hunt, and Jeff Mohr – as they check out some cryptid horror from the television screens of the 1970s with Snowbeast (1977)!

Decades of Horror 1970s Episode 220 – Snowbeast (1977)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

Decades of Horror 1970s is partnering with the WICKED HORROR TV CHANNEL (https://wickedhorrortv.com/) which now includes video episodes of the podcast and is available on Roku, AppleTV, Amazon FireTV, AndroidTV, and its online website across all OTT platforms, as well as mobile, tablet, and desktop.

Synopsis: A Colorado ski resort is besieged by a sub-human beast that commits brutal murders on the slopes.

  Directed by: Herb Wallerstein

Written by: Joseph Stefano

Selected Cast:

Bo Svenson as Gar Seberg

Yvette Mimieux as Ellen Seberg

Robert Logan as Tony Rill

Clint Walker as Sheriff Paraday

Sylvia Sidney as Carrie Rill

Thomas Babson as Buster (as Thomas W. Babson)

Jacquie Botts as Betty Jo

Kathy Christopher as Jennifer

Jamie Jamison as John Cochran

Richard Jamison as Ben Cochran

Liz Jury as Mrs. Blodgett

Richard Jury as Charlie Braintree (as Ric Jury)

Rob McClung as Deputy #2

Annie McEnroe as Heidi (as Anne McEncroe)

Victor Raider-Wexler as Deputy Holt

Prentiss Rowe as Billy – Bell Captain

Michael J. London as The Snowbeast

Daniel Mandehr as Ski Instructor (uncredited)

Brett Palmer as John (uncredited)

Remember those great made-for-TV horror movies from the 1970s? You know the ones. They had familiar stars, and some were very, very good films like The Night Stalker (1974) and Salem’s Lot (1979). In this episode, the 70s Grue Crew returns to that well with Snowbeast (1977). Familiar stars? Bo Svenson, Yvette Mimieux, Robert Logan, Clint Walker, and Sylvia Sidney. Check. A very, very good film? Not so much. According to Bill, Snowbeast should be known as No Beast for its skimpy reveal of the title character. But there is that beautiful skiing footage. Oh well. Someone out there loves Snowbeast. Now, if we could just find them.

At the time of this writing, Snowbeast (1977 is available to stream from Amazon Prime, Tubi, Crackle, Plex, and Freevee. 

Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror 1970s is part of the Decades of Horror two-week rotation with The Classic Era and the 1980s. In two weeks, the next episode, chosen by Bill, will be Colussus: The Forbin Project (1970), a science fiction thriller about a computer takeover. Wait. Is it science fiction if it’s already happening?

We want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans: comment on the site or email the Decades of Horror 1970s podcast hosts at feedback@gruesomemagazine.com. 

Check out this episode!

[thesoulesscollection]

Thsc Height Hcs

It's another Hc post cause I enjoy making them. So I decided to do a little revamp of old Hcs I had like a year ago with the heights I had for Thsc. Again some may be changed later or be updated with more characters in the future.

Character Height Hcs

Henry Stickmin: 6'0" Ellie Rose: 5'9" Charles Calvin: 5'1" Hershell Panzer: 6'10" Johnny Panzer: 6'6" Quentin Alabaster: 5'7" Hj Canterbury: 5'10" Roland Canterbury: 6'0" Hubert Galeforce: 6'2" Dave Panpa: 5'11" Rupert Price: 5'6" Kurt Dietrich: 5'5" Calvin Bukowski: 5'8" Konrad Bukowski: 5'7" Victoria Grit: 5'3" Reginald Copperbottom: 5'10" Right Hand Man: 5'7" Sven Svenson: 5'6" Burt Curtis: 6'3" Earrings: 5'2" Carol Cross: 5'8" Thomas Chestershire: 6'0" Geoffrey Plumb: 5'4"

Ocs: Bernadette Warner: 5'6" Honey Kinsley: 5'4" Keka Alabaster: 5'5" Joseph Warner: 6'1"

[nadjaofstatenisland]

sometimes I remember how this show introduced so many Archie comic characters just to kill them/write them off and I want to scream

[bubbblegum-bitch666]

Remember when the biggest disappointment on Riverdale was Svenson being the blackhood was too anticlimactic.

[icilarastudios]

Straight ship is Konrad x jade ( I forgot the name but I’m pretty sure it’s that )

Henry and carol

Charles and Ellie

Dr v and Henry

I weirdly feel like you Dave and Rupert should be shipped-

That’s all :DDDDDD so like it or idk

Lol, I usually do the popular ships, except Copperight since i barely did it and I didn’t see a ship into is as much in OtT qwq

But, here’s what I ship so far in Henry Stickmin: Opposing the Threat;

Henry Stickmin x Charles Calvin (Stickvin)

Ellie Rose x Fan (Ellian)

Rupert Price x Dave Panpa (Panprice)

Sven Svensson x Burt Curtis (Curtison)

Reginald Copperbottom x Denise DelRay (Copperay)

Joseph Jo x Jacob Rose (Jacoph)

Tin Tintin x The Witch (Tintitch)

Dr. Vinschpinsilstien x Gadget Gabe (Vingabe)

Derek Stickman x Faker Stickman (characters belongs to @sonicboom10go who helps with the story)

Tirreny x Friend (characters belongs to @ask-tirreny-and-friend who helps with the story)

Brandon Stickmin x Acacia Campbell Stickmin

And Liah Lugo deserves to be alone >:D

seriously, she was literally made to be a terrible person in OtT, so she ain’t gonna end up with someone

But thanks for the suggestions, @violetakacharles, of course I can’t say no to Dave x Rupert! :D

I also see the only ship you support is Rosevin, which I’m fine with! It’s because barely little people ship it, all I know who ships it right now is you and Grace Bowling from YouTube. I would try and suggest other ships too just if you want more people interested in your blog, but it’s just a suggestion nothing I’m forcing on, your choice :D

Even though I’m straight, I do like these ships, but also try to get some straight ships in too qwq

[mybiggayships]

Nope. He’s clearly not The Black Hood.

[scullysdogkelly]

wow the villains are actually people who were set up previously in the season congratulations riverdale writers that’s actually mildly competent 

[orcuhid]

HOLY SHIT I WAS RIGHT! I WAS FUCKING RIGHT! OMFG I CANT BELIEVE IT! I CANT BELIEVE I PREDICTED IT

Black hood

Okay so I’m thinking the janitor is the black hood, and if he’s not he’s still shady af. And I think that even though we saw Cheryl do that drawing of Josie, I think the janitors the one that’s been sending her the notes. I mean like did y'all see the way he reacted when Cheryl and Josie confronted Chuck about all the notes??? He looked shook and like a little scared and then relieved when he realized they thought it was Chuck. Also he would have keys to get into every locker, so it’d be so easy for him to leave the stuff.

One thing is that I feel like the Black Hood and Josie’s secret admirer probably aren’t the same person BUT because I strongly believe the janitor is her secret admirer, I think he could also be the black hood. He’s the right stature, right age. Plus they showed a small glimpse of him in the next promo, where he’s like sitting at his desk.

I don’t know this is just my theory, but the janitor definitely has something shady going on.

[motivationalvamp]

Snowbeast - 1977

Nightmare Theatre - Tonight Baron Mondo Von Doren (Mike Ensley) with his sidekicks—the masked wrestler El Sapo de Tempesto (Chip Chism) and pet werewolf Mittens (Lemmie Crews) will be showing Snowbeast  a 1977 American made-for-television horror film starring Bo Svenson, Yvette Mimieux, Robert Logan and Clint Walker, and follows the story of a bloodthirsty Bigfoot-like monster terrorizing a ski resort in the Colorado Rockies. It was directed by Herb Wallerstein from a teleplay written by Joseph Stefano (The Outer Limits co-creator, who also wrote the screenplay for Alfred Hitchcock's 1960 thriller Psycho). The film originally premiered as the NBC Thursday Night Movie on NBC on April 28, 1977. 

[iwaxpoetic]

fic: like you’d get your knuckles bloody (betty/archie, riverdale)

fandom: riverdale pairing: archie andrews/betty cooper, barchie There were so many choices that felt so small at the time. It seemed as if she blinked while getting a refill of her milkshake at Pop’s and woke up in a forest, covered in her boyfriend’s blood. She had been so many Betties between them - in a bunker, at the farm, chasing down a masked killer, in a black wig, holding Chuck Clayton’s head under water —

Standing beneath her porch light, her heart in her throat while Archie Andrews said, “I can’t give you the answer that you want.”

Was that the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end?--

Betty Cooper, before-and-after.

Her sense of narrative structure made her wish it was as easy as a before-and-after.

There was such clarity in a defining moment, in being able to spot the time when everything changed. There was a Cheryl before and after Jason died; a Jughead before and after he slipped on the Serpent jacket; the Breakfast at Tiffany’s Veronica before she turned In Cold Blood.

There was no clean before-and-after for Betty Cooper. There were so many choices that felt so small at the time. It seemed as if she blinked while getting a refill of her milkshake at Pop’s and woke up in a forest, covered in her boyfriend’s blood. She had been so many Betties between then - in a bunker, at the farm, chasing down a masked killer, in a black wig, holding Chuck Clayton’s head under water —

Standing beneath her porch light, her heart in her throat while Archie Andrews said, “I can’t give you the answer that you want.”

Was that the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end?

——

The old Betty, wherever she began and ended, was characterized by her discipline.

Every day, she suited up in her prim cardigans and slick ponytail, ready for another day as the dutiful daughter, the doting sister, the star student. She could handle any pop quiz, any turbulence in the Cooper household, any pressing deadlines at the Blue and Gold. When the pressure got to be too much, she would clench her fists and breathe through it.

And every night, she looked out her bedroom window at what she really wanted. Second floor, second window from the back, calling to her like a lighthouse. Archie’s window was lit up at all hours of the day and night, whether he was strumming his guitar or dozing off with a movie on. It was her nightlight. She fell asleep to its comforting glow, knowing their time would come one day.

She had to be disciplined, because she was hungry. Sometimes it scared her, how strongly she felt. There was a bottomless pit of want inside of her and she tiptoed around it, testing the edges but never letting herself fall in. Betty didn’t want to be the kind of person who was dragged around by her id. She wanted to be the person that other people thought she was. Sometimes that meant sleepless nights helping Polly learn her cheer routine, piling more volunteer hours on top of her already packed schedule, turning the other cheek to another Blossom insult.

Season five Betty Draper, Cheryl had once called her, as if she knew the half of it.

——

Betty had never thought Archie would love her in the exact way that she loved him.

She knew that love took different shapes in each container. She could see the way her mother and father fit together, pushing and pulling but ultimately a team, making each other better - a real laugh, in retrospect. One of her favorite memories was being eight years old, when Alice had just broken a big story. The pride lit her up from the inside and Hal’s beaming face reflected it right back. But she had also watched from next door as the Andrews fell apart. Fred and Mary lost something that seemed sweet and steady and kind, and then Fred puttered around that big house alone.

She thought about what that love might feel like, when it finally came.

Archie was all sweetness. Being his girlfriend would mean never walking to school alone, sporting his letterman jacket at games, and dancing together at prom. It would be afternoons working on a jalopy in the garage and nights cuddling together on the sofa. He would write songs about her and she would proofread his college essays and they would move to New York together after graduation.

It would be an awful lot like being his friend had been since they turned 13 and their parents had put a moratorium on sleepovers, except that she would get to touch the abs that had been taunting her. The heart that beat under those defined pectoral muscles was pure gold and it was an even better prize.

Something murkier lay beneath the surface for Betty. Sometimes she wondered if she loved him or if she coveted him. She wanted to know every thought in his head, every dream in his heart. Long before the school hallways had started to echo with Archie got hot!, she had been daydreaming about ways to get his hands on her. There were no dibs on a person, but she saw him first and had seen only him since.

Betty had never thought that Archie would burn for her, but she basked in his steady glow. Archie lived closer to the surface - he wore his heart on his sleeve and an easy smile on his face. That was one of the things she loved about him. They would be so happy together, but his devotion would never match hers.

It wasn’t until she was standing at the edge of a shallow grave, looking down at his terrified, resolved face with a shovel in her hand and a gun to her head, that she realized they may have misjudged each other.

——

A dam had broken in Betty Cooper earlier that fall.

It could have been one thing or any number of things —  Veronica Lodge sweeping into town, Polly’s mysterious disappearance, Jason Blossom’s body washing up in Sweetwater River. It was an unusually active September, especially by Riverdale’s sleepy standards.

For Betty, it felt like the foundation had been cracking. With one firm tap, it was gone.

You are so perfect. I’ve never been good enough for you, I’ll never be good enough for you.

The careful balancing of what she should want versus what she did want is what had kept her in check for all these years. No one else seemed to have the same qualms. Betty couldn’t imagine Cheryl or Veronica denying themselves a thing. In fact, she knew they wouldn’t. Veronica had talked a big game about turning over a new leaf, but after less than a week in Riverdale, Veronica had seven minutes in a closet and Betty had a box of Magnolia cupcakes.

Only Betty had the discipline to decide to be something and then become it. It had gotten harder for her to see how that was a good thing.

— —

Jughead’s interest in Betty was both a balm and a sting.

Boys had never been interested in her. She wasn’t sure if it was because word of her strict parents preceded her or because her crush on Archie was so obvious that it was not worth getting their hopes up. Whatever the reason, she had made it sixteen years without being asked to the drive-in, having a note slipped in her locker, or having rocks thrown at her window by someone who wanted to date her. She did all those things with her best friend and had become aware that it was not the same.

Until Jughead crawled through her window and gave her her first real kiss, she didn’t realize exactly how different it was.

Being on the other side of the equation was a revelation. It was amazing to think that there was someone who liked her more than anyone else, who thought about her when she wasn’t around, who wanted to kiss her and hold her hand and maybe more one day. Jughead was a good person - he was cute and smart, with a wicked sense of humor that tickled at the dark side she kept such a lid on - but what made him special is that he thought she was special. Betty had never come first to anyone before and she dove into intimacy with the same enthusiasm and determination that she put into any task.

But it was her way to acknowledge the cloud even while she focused on the silver lining. Besides her, Jughead was Archie’s best friend in the world. If other boys had avoided her due to some unspoken claim, surely he would find her to be even further off limits. If Jughead liked her, it was because Archie never would.

Somehow it was more devastating than the rejection itself. A dramatic showdown in formalwear still fit with the narrative that she had imagined for Archie-and-Betty. Power couples faced obstacles. Even after homecoming, even after Melody, even after Veronica, a part of her still though she should be patient. It was the utter lack of drama in her courtship with Jughead that made it real. There was nothing to be dramatic about.

She made her peace with it, first with her nails dug into her palms but then genuinely. The pieces of her heart felt like they were rearranging. Jughead had burst his way in and made his home right in the center. The part that housed her feelings for Archie was smaller, but the scars had made the walls thick and tough.

She would always love him and now she knew what shape it would take. She felt lucky to have enough love in her life that she could feel the difference.

It took a few months, but Betty started to think Jughead might be her soulmate. They both felt a personal obligation to clean up Riverdale’s seedy underbelly, loved books and old movies, and, most importantly, they hated the same things about her. On his lips, “perfect” was scornful. After all of those years pursuing perfection, she wasn’t too fond of it herself.

——

People gave you a wide berth in the aftermath of a showdown with a killer.

Betty was distracted and distant in the weeks following the altercation with Joseph Svenson. People around town stared and whispered even more than usual, but they looked at her with pity and awe in their eyes. Even her mother and Jughead gave her space, assuming that she was reeling after weeks of cat-and-mouse.

When she was alone, Betty didn’t think about Joseph Svenson at all. She thought about Archie Andrews.

It wasn’t about the kiss, although it was hardly the one she had scripted for them long ago. She thought about the way that he had grabbed her hand as she put the pieces together and started to spiral, the only thing tethering her to this earth. She thought about how instantly he had responded to Get in the coffin or I’ll shoot her in the head right now.

To be willing to die for someone was the kind of sweeping statement of love and dedication that was easy to say because it was so unlikely to be tested. It was reserved for the most important people in your life, the ones that you would do anything to protect. When she was in danger, Archie hadn’t batted an eye. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was him lowering himself into a coffin for her. She had been looking at that face for years and years, had known it when it had a beaming smile of mismatched baby teeth, had admired its changing angles. His jaw was clenched but his eyes were as warm as ever when the lid closed over him.

It was unbelievable to think that only weeks ago, kisses and milkshakes had made her feel special. It wasn’t fair to hold up a high school romance against the ultimate sacrifice, but the tectonic plates of her life had shifted again. It was a secret humming under her skin. It was heady to know that there was someone in the world who would do anything for you.

In a way, the showdown with the Black Hood was the most romantic night of her life. That was Riverdale for you.

— —

Betty stopped thinking about Hal Cooper almost as soon as he was locked away. She had spent so much time pouring over the Black Hood and puzzling over her family secrets that when she tried to align the man with the father, none of the pieces fit quite right anymore. After the loss of Hal and Polly, the Cooper family structure coalesced neatly around Betty and Alice as if it had always just been them.

Compartmentalizing and moving on was another discipline that Betty excelled at. Most of the time, anyway.

She thought about Fred Andrews all the time. The lights were out in Archie’s room for the first time that she could remember, but she knew that he was home. The loss was unspeakable, so she never tried.

— —

Even for someone good at compartmentalizing, it could be hard for Betty to separate the way she felt about Veronica from how she felt about Veronica Lodge.

The simple truth is that they were friends because Veronica had decided they were friends. Betty had been skeptical but a little bit flattered. She had written Veronica off at first, sure that she would move on and nestle in at Cheryl's side like two rich bitch peas in a pod, but she had persisted.

No one had ever wanted to be her friend that desperately. Despite what her frilly pink sweaters might imply, she had never been much of a girl’s girl. Her only real friends were Archie and Kevin. That had always been more than enough for her, but there was something to be said for having Veronica in her corner.

But the only person better at compartmentalizing than Betty was Veronica Lodge. Veronica could claim that she was destined to be Betty’s best friend while snatching her lifelong crush out from under her. She could disavow her family’s shady business dealings, then join Lodge Industries and keep quiet about their plans for the Southside. She could love Archie, then sit by while her father destroys his life.

Betty had been tap dancing around questions of morality for a while. One did not get to make too many principled stances when their boyfriend was a gang leader who once partially skinned a woman, and she tried not to throw too many stones from inside a house where she had once blackmailed Cheryl Blossom into testifying on behalf of FP Jones. As she started to shed more and more of her Nice Girl persona, Betty thought she had become more understanding of all the gray in the world.

In a sweltering court room after Labor Day weekend, Betty had found the thing she could never forgive. She watched stupid - noble, self-sacrificing, stupid - Archie jump at a plea deal for a crime he had not committed, all to spare them another trial. Veronica had cried and dropped her head into her hands, but Betty could still see flickers of her in Hiram Lodge’s satisfied smile.

Betty held her friend as she cried and clamped down on her latest intrusive thought - none of this would be happening if it weren’t for you. From learning to read to wrestling him from Ms. Grundy’s clutches, there had never been a problem Betty could not solve for Archie until he crossed Hiram’s path. There was nothing Betty wouldn't do for Archie, but there was nothing she could do for him now, so she averted her teary eyes and tried not to let in the darkness that always seemed so close to the surface now.

Meeting Veronica Lodge was the worst thing that had ever happened to any of them.

— —

When Betty used to dream of Archie as the leading man in every romance, she had imagined kissing him with a frequency that made her blush to think about even now.

She had been inexperienced and was not even sure what she was longing for. In her mind’s eye, she saw him in everything -  the foot pop at the end of The Princess Diaries, the foggy window in Titanic, on the dock in The Notebook - hell, even Spiderman dangling upside down in the rain. It was a collage of images that she could not quite attach a sensation to, but it made her blood run a bit hotter.

When Betty tried to flesh out her fantasies, she relied on a few tangible things she did know - the smell of his cologne, which she had picked out; his increasingly hard biceps, flexing under her fingers when they linked arms on the way to school; the way his hair felt when she playfully ruffled it; the slow drag of his fingers across her back and stomach, when he was winding up to tickle her.

It was almost like an out of body experience when she flung the microphone to the ground. Betty was somewhere else in the garage as she and Archie sang, circling the microphone, their traded glances growing less playful and more searching, until he swung the guitar behind his back and reached for her.

The touch of his hand was like it had always been, the tether that held her to earth and made sure she didn’t miss a thing. Betty had never been more present. After all those years of patience and restraint, she couldn’t get close enough.

— —

There was no clear before-and-after for Archie Andrews.

He had come a long way from being the boy-next-door. He had been the star football player and the sensitive musician. He had been groomed by his music teacher and apprenticed at the foot of a mobster. He had started a youth center for the underprivileged and shattered his hand pulling Cheryl Blossom out of a frozen river. It felt like a lifetime ago that it had just been Betty and Archie in a booth at Pop’s, but Betty didn’t feel like he had changed at all. When she looked into his eyes, she saw the same person staring back at her that she always had.

When there was such a bone-deep understanding, how could she ever feel like he was different? With every step he took, she was right there too.

It dawned on Betty that maybe her before-and-after had happened long before she started looking for it. There was a Betty Cooper before she loved Archie Andrews and she had been living in the after since she was 11 years old.

She flipped through her diaries, years and years of little choices. Her next one felt big.

[maybeginny]

TeamStarKid Descriptions

TeamStarKid: a bunch of thirty-ish year olds acting like children by making fun of other franchises but they're on a stage and they’re hilarious

Members (not all, but a lot, of them):

Nico Ager, Julia Albain, Rachael D. Albert, Chris Allen, Nick Anderson, Joel Arnold, Julie Ballard, Clark Baxtresser, Jaime Lyn Beatty, Jeff Blim, Mary Clare Blake Booth, Michael Bou-Maroun, Pat Brady, Cory Braun, Adam Brunetti, Tyler Brunsman, Mike Burke, Jamie Burns, Richard Campbell, Joe Carroll, Phil Chester, Amalea Chininis, Kavin Chung, Britney Coleman, Mason Cormie, Brant Cox, Darren Criss, Sam Crittenden, Matt Dahan, Corey Davis, Drew DeFour, Kevin DeKimpe, Denise Donovan, Corey Dorris, Jess Dumbroff, Ilana Elroi, Jason Emmendorfer, Erdem Ertal, Max Evarard, Mariah Rose Faith, Elona Finlay, Justin Fischer, Josh Fleury, Andrew Fox, Scott Fussey, Paul Gabriel, Nick Gage, Matt Glenn, Arielle Goldman, Ali Gordon, Gordon Granger, Lisa Griebel, Hayley Hanway, Samara Harand, Michael Hart, Andrew Hill, Jeff Himes, Brian Holden, AJ Holmes, Justin Hong, Jade Ingardona, Sam Johnides, Marta Johnson, Nick Kabat, Eric Kahn Gale, Max Kaufman, Proma Kholsa, Jon Jackson, Bob Joles, Craig Kidwell, Bruce Kiesling, Angela F. Kiessel, Justin Kono, Mike LaFond, Justin LaForte, Scott Lamps, Jen Lang, Matt Lang, Nick Lang, Mark LeGrand, Lauren Lopez, Chris Lorentz, Corey Lubowich, Evanna Lynch, Devin Lytle, Robert Manion, Jon Matteson, Lily Marks, Ryan McDiarmid, Lana McKinnon, Jama McMahon, Kaley McMahon, Curt Mega, Alle-Faye Monka, Joe Moses, Yonit Olshan, David Orlicz, Lauren Pais, Alex Paul, Devon Perry, Sarah Petty, Eric Pidluski, Tony Pisaneschi, Madeline Platt, Amy Plouff, Jim Povolo, Ryan Proch, Carolyn Reich, Corey Richardson, Joey Richter, Molly Rife, Claire Roche, Josh Romero, Brian Rosenthal, Cami Ross, June Saito, Jacob Saleh, Lena Sands, Dylan Saunders, Matt Script, Pierce Siebers, Christopher Smith, Teia Smith, Bonnie Socha (née Gruesen), Rachael Soglin, Miles Spagnola, Katie Spelman, Mike Sportiello, Meredith Stepien, Taylor Stanton, Jack Stratton, Nicholas Joseph Strauss-Matathia, Emily Stromberg, Ruby Summers, Jade Svenson, Mark Swiderski, Sango Tajima, Emily Thomas, James Tolbert, Anna Troiano, Ronnie Vail,  Carlos Valdes, Meryl Waldo, Joe Walker, Lauren Walker, Russ Walko, Andy Warren, Kim Whalen, Liam White, Tiffany Williams, Clara Wong, & Marguerite Woodward

*this list most likely does not include all of the StarKids

Productions:

Little White Lie: a YouTube show about bands but Duder's a spy

A Very Potter Musical: Harry Potter but Harry is an ass, Ron is a jerk in love, Hermione is bullied, and Voldemort is hot and in love in Quirrel

Me and My Dick: Joey Richter plays a sex-crazed version of himself but it's a musical with singing dicks and vaginas

A Very Potter Sequel: Harry Potter but they go back in time and the actor who played Voldemort in the first one plays a chubby little fuck but is still hot

Starship: the little mermaid but with bugs and in space

Holy Musical B@man!: Batman but Dylan Saunders' voice fucking slays and instead of the Joker they have Sweet Tooth who makes a lot of candy puns

A Very Potter Senior Year: Harry Potter but Harry is even more of an ass, Voldemort is even hotter, and you will cry

Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier: Wicked but for Ja'far and Aladdin is a dick

ANI: A Parody: Star Wars but the villains are the heroes, Darth Vador is not threatening, Tarkin is in love with a stormtrooper, Jar Jar is lovable, and they pod race again

The Trail to Oregon!: the game but the characters are named by the audience and they are all idiots

Firebringer: cave people but with revolutions, love, and fucking awesome choreography

The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals: a musical about a guy who doesn't like musicals but a meteor crashes in his town that turns everything into a musical

Black Friday: a horror comedy commentary about capitalism and corruption but Dylan Saunders is BACK and fucking bops (i will add everyone who worked on this incredible musical to the list of StarKids as soon as i have time, sorry)

*this list does not include tours, concerts, reunions, The Harder They Fall, Hobbit, Hobbit 2, Yes, I am Afraid of the Dark!, 1 Night 2 Last 3 Ever, Airport for Birds, Movies, Musicals, & Me or their YouTube Short Comedy Sketches for the sake of simplicity

Tin Can Bros: a separate but similar theater company created by a few StarKids but they are still StarKids

Members:

Corey Lubowich, Joey Richter, Brian Rosenthal

Productions:

Spies are Forever: a musical about spies but they say the word spies way too many times and the plot twist will smack you and call you a bitch

The Solve It Squad Returns: Scooby Doo but they avoid copy-right infringement by changing all of the names and they are aged-up and depressed

*this list does not include Alive! On Stage!, Seriously Not a Joke, We Didn’t Plan to Kill Our Guest, Idle Worship, Flop Stoppers, Wayward Guide, Choose Our Destiny, or their YouTube Short Comedy Sketches for the sake of simplicity

If I forgot or am wrong about something, please let me know so I can fix it

[docrotten]

WHO CAN KILL A CHILD (1976, QUIÉN PUEDE MATAR A UN NIÑO?) – Episode 219 – Decades Of Horror 1970s

“I had a shotgun in my room, I grabbed it…but I…I didn’t do anything. No one in the village did a thing, do you understand? Because… who can kill a child?” That’s not a question you want to be the answer to. Join your faithful Grue Crew – Doc Rotten, Bill Mulligan, Chad Hunt, Daphne Monary-Ernsdorff, and Jeff Mohr – as they check out a legendary and infamous Spanish horror film, Who Can Kill a Child? (1976, ¿Quién puede matar a un niño?).

Decades of Horror 1970s Episode 219 – Who Can Kill a Child? (1976)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

Decades of Horror 1970s is partnering with the WICKED HORROR TV CHANNEL (https://wickedhorrortv.com/) which now includes video episodes of the podcast and is available on Roku, AppleTV, Amazon FireTV, AndroidTV, and its online website across all OTT platforms, as well as mobile, tablet, and desktop.

A couple of English tourists arrive on an island where all the children have gone crazy and are murdering the adults.

  Directed by: Narciso Ibáñez Serrador (as Narciso Ibañez Serrador)

Writing Credits: Narciso Ibáñez Serrador (screenplay) (as Luis Peñafiel); Juan José Plans [novel, El juego de los niños (The children’s game)]

Selected Cast:

Lewis Fiander as Tom

Prunella Ransome as Evelyn

Antonio Iranzo as Padre (the father)

Miguel Narros as Guardacostas 1 (Coastguard)

Marisa Porcel as Brit van der Holden

Luis Ciges as Enrique Amorós

Fabián Conde as Empleado (Employee)

Maria Druille as Niña que llora (credited as María Druille)

Niños (children): Lourdes de la Cámara, Roberto Nauta, José Luis Romero, Javier de la Cámara, Marián Salgado, Cristina Torres, Luis Mateos, Adela Blanco, Juan Carlos Romero, Julio Jesús Parra, Carlos Parra, Juan Antonio Balandín, Pedro Balandín

Who Can Kill a Child? (1976), is a politically incorrect title for a Spanish horror film on a difficult subject directed by Narciso Ibáñez Serrador. The film tells the story of a married couple expecting a baby who travels to a remote island off the coast of Spain for a vacation and finds it almost completely devoid of adults. WTF? WTF, indeed! The direction and cinematography are brilliant and the acting doesn’t miss a beat. The 70s Grue Crew, joined this episode by Daphne Monary-Ernsdorff (yay!), are simultaneously disturbed and impressed by this cult classic and think it deserves a wider audience… if you can take it!

TRIGGER WARNING: The movie begins with ten minutes of newsreel footage depicting the heartbreaking damage done to children by the actions of adults in wars. Many viewers will understandably want to skip this section.

At the time of this writing, Who Can Kill a Child? (1976) is available to stream from various YouTube links and is available from Mondo Macabro as a standard format Blu-ray disc.

Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror 1970s is part of the Decades of Horror two-week rotation with The Classic Era and the 1980s. In two weeks, the next episode, chosen by Chad, will be Snowbeast (1977), a TV movie written by Joseph Stefano (Outer Limits, 1963-1965) and starring Bo Svenson, Yvette Mimieux, Robert Logan, Clint Walker, and Sylvia Sidney. It’s time for a good creature feature/big foot flick, but is this the one? Time will tell.

We want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans: comment on the site or email the Decades of Horror 1970s podcast hosts at feedback@gruesomemagazine.com. 

Check out this episode!

[kiara-carrera]

mere monstrosity

pairing: sweet pea x brooke holliday warnings: mentions of blood and gore, minor character death word count: 4,890 author’s note: for the southside archive’s weekly au ‘werewolf’. very loosely based off the 2011 red riding hood movie, as well as that one episode of tw set in france. but like, very barely. like the aesthetic is there, not much more. also reggie exudes some major gaston energy, but that’s unrelated. a part two to this will come eventually if i can find enough inspo and if people like it enough!

read on ao3 or continue on under the cut!

Everyone in the village of Riverdale has heard the tales.

The story of the wolves and the man. A story — the telling of a nightmare, really — of men who could transform in the light of the moon. Stories of beastly creatures that walk silently and discreetly among them in the daylight, but who become something entirely different at night.

Some say it’s only under the light of the full moon, some believe it to be at will. The ones said to bend a will are always more terrifying because there’s an added element of surprise, no planning that can be done. But all the same, the stories are always tales of horror, never heartwarming. Stories of unearthly creatures never are. It’s always about the beast murdering and hunting and then being hunted right back. Man is always made to be the victor, vanquishing the beast back to the hell it came from.

They go by many names, every iteration having a different title. Shapeshifter. Lycanthrope. Wolf-man. Beasts. Half breeds. But most of the storytellers in Riverdale had taken to calling them one thing and one thing only: monsters.

Each and every tale, while following different paths, all have the same patterns when you looked past the gory details and frightening endings. A man, a wolf, a moon. The darkest of nights come to bring the darkest of creatures. A man and a wolf, one and the same. Flesh by day, fur by night. The sharpest teeth imaginable, maw slick with the blood of its victim. Claws as pointed as blades, a way to rip through chest cavities to the beating hearts of the pure and for leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. A man, a wolf, a murderer.

Some perceive these creatures to be the work of the Devil, embedding demonic entities into poor, unfortunate souls. Other believe it to be the work of witchcraft, curses placed upon those who made enemies of the old crones. Most just see it for what they think all tales like these are — fiction.

Because everything can be fiction until it happens, right?

That’s what the people of Riverdale used to believe. Their land has always always been peaceful. Quiet. Safe. Nothing bad ever happens in the village situated along the river and the thick groves of trees known as Fox Forest. Children are free to roam the forests without fear of danger. Nights hang over the village, the sky inky black canvases dotted with crystalline stars, and all they are followed by is the rise of the sun. The night doesn’t bring fear, no more than the day does.

And then the deaths began.

The first victim that death claims is none other than Jason Blossom, the son of an affluent family. The Blossoms have lived in the northern part of Riverdale for years, the stories detailing that it’s their ancestors who settled the village to begin with. But while Great Grandfather Blossom achieved a memory linked with the settlement, his descendant finds a legacy enriched with darkness.

Jason came into the world with his twin sister and had left alone, found at the banks of the river, just outside the tree line. His chest had been torn open, face mangled and body nearly unrecognizable. He was in pieces when they found him, or so the rumor goes. His heart was missing and a trail of blood scattered off in tracks amongst the once virgin snow.

Tracks that suspiciously resembled wolf tracks. Tracks that resemble the paws of a wolf that trail off into the snow, less thick with Blossom blood the further they lead away from the body. Tracks that, eventually, morph into footprints.

Human footprints.

Fiction and reality seem to blur when this detail comes to light. And yet, all the same, fiction and reality seem to be separated in the minds of the villagers.

The village was sent up into an uproar with the death of the Blossom boy, villagers crying out about the animal attack that had to have taken place. For it had to be an animal, nothing more and nothing less. That’s how it always starts with these stories. A man, a wolf, a moon, a death. Animal attack. That’s what they’ll always call it. The superstitious will try to make the people see past the obvious answer that an animal is the cause, but no one ever believes them.

Because again, everything is fictional until it’s not.

The authority of the village puts out a search for an animal that supposedly took Jason’s life. They round up a few of the strongest boys in the village, the ones not too sickly and frail to hunt the beast. The sons of the families Mantle, Mason, and Clayton enter the woods with nothing but a vague idea of what they’re hunting and a belly full of fire and revenge at the thought of their fallen comrade. It takes two days, a group situated in the thick of the forest with weapons before they return dragging the carcass of a wolf as if it’s some sort of prize.

Weeks go by. Jason is buried. He’s buried in the cemetery that’s behind the Church, Father Solomon blessing his spirit to find peace. His sister, a pretty redhead named Cheryl, seems to be eternally on the verge of going off the deep end, dressed in long black dresses every time she’s seen out in village. Cheryl’s probably the first who feeds into the hysteria, not believing the elders and village leaders for a minute when her brother’s death is regarded as an accident.

She doesn’t say the words, but people can tell what she’s thinking most days. On good days, she’ll be silent in her suffering. On the bad days, her curls have sprigs of monkshood — wolfsbane — woven into them, toxically beautiful plants obtained from her mother’s garden. No one asks her why wolfsbane — they know. She believes the old wives tales, the horror stories. People call Cheryl crazy and parents warn their children to avoid her.

She’s not crazy. She’s not. They just don’t have reason to believe otherwise yet.

And then death claims another. Dilton Doiley, a scrawny boy at the top of his class at the local schoolhouse, is found deeper in the forest, hundreds of feet from where Jason was found. The scene is almost identical to when they found Jason. Chest ripped open, covered in blood, left to rot amongst the rows of maples. Wolf tracks. Human tracks. One and the same. A man, a wolf, a death. He’s buried and it’s like repeating the same brutal history.

Except … except Dilton’s death comes far more unexpected than Jason’s did. Jason was thought to be a freak accident. But Dilton’s passing slaps the village in the face, for they believed they vanquished the beast. Suddenly, the carcass that Reginald Mantle toted into the village’s center is nothing more than a mere animal killed in vain. Suddenly, another mother has lost her son.

His mother’s already used to grief, losing her husband years prior, but it’s her son that seems to do her in. She spirals and suddenly Cheryl’s not the grieving madwoman of the village anymore. Old Mrs. Doiley will scream her suspicions at anyone who will listen. She theorizes and points fingers, shunning people she believes responsible and demanding justice for her son. The elders of the village, ones whose ancestry stems from the wicked village across the river whisper how it reminds them of the stories of witch trials that once occurred many, many years ago.

She points fingers and she wails most days and it’s become commonplace in the village for her to do so. The only one who doesn’t seem to watch her with ridicule or fear is Cheryl. The village now has two firm believers in the stories that the elders used to tell to scare the children into obeying their parents. Two believers and a village of people clinging onto a reality that unravels more and more as the snow falls over the land.

The longer the winter rages on, the longer the list of victims become. The bodies pile up, the time between deaths ranging anywhere from weeks to mere hours between corpses being found. Corpses that were once people now just become names and little wooden crosses embedded above graves. They become stories to their friends and families. They become warnings to little kids, proof that you cannot go out safely anymore. And eventually, they just become afterthoughts.

Ben Button, a tall and gangly blonde who was a little odd, but meant well. Little knew him, so little mourn him. The few friends he did have will raise a glass to him and then try to move on.

Midge Klump, an angelic beauty who’s death seemed to rock the village to its core. Her passing sees a lengthy farewell, a long drawn out day of sobs to accompany rivers of tears.

A drifter named Kurtz, who had been once accused of robbing the apothecary and offering strange elixirs to adolescents. His death is almost rejoiced, although done in secret. He receives a burial as a means of disposing the body. There is no funeral, there is no grave marker, there is no one to remember him.

Joseph Svenson, who had once been regarded as the village degenerate. He lost his family when he was younger and never married, so there’s no one present when he’s buried.

By this point, the village is in shambles. No one goes out after dark. No one steps near or beyond the tree line of Fox Forest if they can help it, no longer believing the deity they once prayed to in order to keep them safe. For if the gods could create such a monster, how could they be trusted with prayers?

Father Solomon, bless his heart, tries to instill faith in the villagers, to keep their connections to their god strong in these troubling times. Some turn to religion, as people in chaos always do, but the deaths continue anyways. There is no god that can save them now.

Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third begins his conspiracy novel for the sake of having something to do. He sits in the dark corners of the local pub, fingers stained black from his inkwell, surrounded by stacks of filled pages. No one knows if he’s truly a believer or if he’s just looking for a story to tell, but there isn’t a single person who questions why he insists on documenting this part of Riverdale’s twisted existence. He spends most of his time at the pub or down in the southern area of the village, his home, discussing the old tales with elders like Thomas Topaz.

No one calls him crazy. And no one calls Cheryl crazy anymore or even little Old Mrs. Doiley. In Riverdale, no one’s crazy anymore.

They’re just afraid.

Everyone’s afraid and the madness seeps into the village easily and it’s clear as day on everyone’s face. No one knows what to believe, no one knows where to put their faith, and everyone goes to sleep at night surrounded by unease. Some try to act like everything’s normal, like the village suddenly has a wolf problem. As if there’s something in the water making them crazed.

Most try to live their lives, but it’s hard. There are children to think about. Livelihoods. Some wonder if the village will make it to spring or if…whatever’s hunting them will pick them off one by one before silver snows can melt into flower buds and greenery.

Brooke Holliday just tries to keep living, day by day. She gets up and ties back her hair and puts on her dresses and tries to pretend that her village hasn’t fallen into a rut of hysteria. She doesn’t voice her opinions on the death and no one bothers to ask.

There’s something…different in the way Brooke operates under all of this chaos. She goes about her days, not feeding into the fear that people have but also not discounting how they’re feeling. Somewhere, embedded deep within the pages of Forsythe’s novel, there’s a mention as to how the blonde carries herself throughout this. More than a footnote, shorter than a chapter. He watches her carefully, never too long to dive deeper into what’s different about her during these dark times, but enough to notice. She’s different, calm but on edge at the same time…almost as if she knows more than she lets on.

He chalks this up to the fact that she hears everything. Not because she’s a good listener, but because she’s employed under old man Tate at the local pub, the same one where she can see her friend add another twenty pages to his manuscript over the course of days, not knowing she’s mentioned among his pages. The same pub where she hears family men bemoan about keeping their wives and children safe. The same one where she can hear some boasting arrogantly that they’d take down the beast one-handed if they came across it.

Reginald Mantle, the same Mantle who took the life of the wrong animal, falls into that last category. He’s always been a bit of a loose cannon. Devilishly handsome, well built, and from a respected family from the northern part of the village, he’s the kind of good stock that Brooke assumes she’s expected to be interested in. Even more so now that’s he’s begun to spout his tales of would-be heroics. Frankly, she just thinks he’s full of it.

Tonight is no different as she brings him and his companions another round of steins filled to the brim with amber liquid. Mantle’s been here for over an hour, prattling on to anyone who will listen. His dimwitted companions hang onto his every word and the few girls in the village who are of age and not in a courtship seem to flock to wherever the dark-haired man goes.

“Wherever this beast is,” Reginald begins to boast, a smug expression on his face as not one, but two — deeply misguided, Brooke assumes — maidens fawn over him. “I will find him and his head will have a place above my fireplace. A story to tell my grandchildren.”

Brooke tries her hardest not to roll her eyes. She figures that he got lucky during the last outing into the woods. Try that again and he’d probably ended up maimed or worse. She sets down the drinks, before wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.

“You’d do well not to go in the forest looking for a fight you could potentially lose, Reginald,” Brooke quips. “Wouldn’t want that pretty little face of yours to be ruined.”

The two women dangling off Reginald’s arms glare up at Brooke, while most of his companions burst into laughter at the anger blooming on their friend’s face. He wears the kind of expression he dons when he expects his opponent to back down, bow out. But Brooke’s known him since childhood and frankly, she’s never been one to be afraid of the self-proclaimed Mantle the Magnificent.

“Laugh all you want,” he sneers at her. She wants to interject that his friends are actually the ones laughing, but she bites her tongue. “But it will be an entirely different story, Miss Holliday, when that beast comes for you next and you need a rescue.”

Rescue? From him? She’d sooner want to be the wolf’s next meal. “You mistake for a damsel and that’s your first mistake, Reginald,” she tells him, before drifting away to another table that needs drinks.

Brooke keeps her head high, not caring that she can most definitely hear the sneers that Mantle throws her way under his breath. She pays little mind to the opinions of oafs like him. Once upon a time, Reginald had been tolerable. But over the course of this bloody winter, things in Riverdale have changed.

She figures it’s only natural for something like this to change people. In a way, it makes sense. Once deaths like this occur, with so much superstitious lore filling the blank spaces in between, it’s only natural that people’s true colors would spill out over the page. Reginald’s always felt that he had something to prove. It only makes sense he’d choose now to be the time to do it.

The doors to the pub burst open, winter winds whipping through the bar easily, flakes of fresh snow drifting in as well. Everyone’s eyes seem to fall on the group slipping in out of the cold and Brooke can feel her heart pick up as she sees who’s made themselves known.

It’s a group of men, the ages of them ranging from young to old, who hail from the southernmost tips of the village. For years, even before the hysteria that started with Jason Blossom’s death, the southern villagers have always been detested by the northern residents. No one’s exactly sure why it happened this way, but it’s always been the unspoken way of the land.

At the schoolhouse, the rooms were divided. At the church, they sat in different rows. The children were warned against playing together once they started to reach certain ages and most young companionships faded out by certain ages. Northern men are taught to turn their noses up to southern women. Northern maidens were always warned against the men of the south. Crossing over lines like that would be blasphemous to most and it’s gotten to the point where there’s a clear divide in the village. But old man Tate’s pub has always been common ground between the north and south and that’s where the trouble for Brooke always seemed to begin.

Trouble, all six foot three of it, that had just walked into the bar.

His name is Nathan, but he’s known amongst his friends by the nickname of Sweet Pea. His hands rub together feverishly, trying to bring quick warmth to the near frozen digits. He trails behind his friends, but he moves slowly, eyes scanning the bar until he lands on the blonde barmaid. And almost as she couldn’t help it, her eyes lock with his.

Brooke swallows thickly as she watches him from across the bar, hand still gripping the drink she had brought to the table beside her. Her heart feels like it’s running a race alongside the fastest horses and she knows her cheeks are warming with a blush as a ghost of a smile carves across his lips. An almost imperceptible nod is thrown her way before he licks his lips.

Almost instinctively, she’s pulled into a daydream, hidden memories playing out in her mind for her almost tauntingly. She can still feel his hands gripping her hips through the layers of her dress, can feel the way his lips slot against hers as if they were made to be together. Her hands in his hair, his rucking up her skirt. Whispered sweet nothings, hush filthy phrases in her ear. Kisses down her collarbone, devilish lips sucking purples and reds into her milky skin. Dark corners, the back room of the bar after closing, the shed behind her house, anywhere that no one’s likely to intrude upon.

Him, all of him, just for her. For all the moments they share, she is his and he is hers and nothing can take that away from her until it’s over. Her mind is a filthy place as she watches him cross the bar and slip in beside Forsythe and his other companion, sweat-slick nights of passion playing over and over again until she’s certain her grip on the beer stein will shatter the glass.

Her blush darkens by the second as she finally turns away from his gaze, knowing he’s most likely chuckling to himself as she makes her way back behind the counter where some men sit. She’s fighting a growing grin that wants to cover her lips, the same grin she has any time he’s near. Her memories dance across her mind, taunting and teasing when she feels a familiar heat pulsing inside of her at the thought of them. Under the layers of her skirt, her thighs press together a little tighter.

It’s sinful, what they have. Countless nights together, nothing between them but skin and sweat and heat. Sinful. Forbidden. It’s secret, what they have. She’s expected to marry someone from the northern edge of the village and he’s expected to stay away from her. If anyone were to find out that they were together, that he had deflowered her…Brooke doesn’t even want to know the consequences of that.

So, what they have is secret. Forbidden. Sinful. Delicious. Heart racing. Love. Brooke loves him and Nathan loves her and one day they’ll be together. One day, they’ll leave this all behind. That’s her fantasy. That’s her dream. That’s their future. But for now, it’s late-night trysts and hushed confessions of love in the darkest of corners. For them, that’s perfect. It’s perfect.

But like all love stories, soon it will be threatened. Compromised.

For there’s a secret that they share that’s far more dangerous than sex and love. A secret about him, his friends, one he entrusted her with the day he declared her love. One that frightened her, but not because she was afraid of him. Because she was afraid for him. Afraid for what this hysteria meant for him.

A man, a wolf, a moon. This is how it starts. Man hails from a pack with a long lineage of shifting. Man and pack do not hunt humans, do not threaten the ways of nature, merely only serving to protect. Protect against the feral ones, the packless, the murderers. Man falls in love with a beautiful girl. Full moons come and go, murders start. This is the end of all things for them.

The end begins now.

The doors burst open to the bar again, but this time, there is no joyful laughter or hands rubbed together to gain back warmth. There’s only gargled shouts, crimson blood dripping on the hardwood floor that tracks in from the snow. There’s only Archibald Andrews clutching his chest tightly, blood seeping through his fingers. There’s only Andrews calling for help through a mouthful of blood with horror in his eyes.

“Andrews!”

The shout comes from Reginald, who’s up in an instant and sprinting to his side. His friends follow closely behind and soon the redheaded Andrews man is being lowered to the ground as everyone’s sent into a panic. It’s almost nightfall, that much can be gleaned from the still open door. Nightfall. Monsters always come out at nightfall.

Brooke moves across the bar in a flurry, carrying multiple rags behind the counter. She’s on her knees beside Archibald within seconds, shoving his hands out of the way and pressing the clean rags against his wound. It’s large, covering the left side of his chest, in the shape of claw marks. Her heart drops at that, but she tries to focus on anything else while someone sprints out of the bar and down the road towards the village healer’s home.

Staunch the blood flow, staunch the blood flow, she tells herself. He can be bandaged later. Her hands are shaking as she presses down even harder.

She seems to be the only one focused on the blood.

“Who did this?” Reginald snaps at Archibald, eyes alight with fury. “What happened?”

Brooke’s eyes narrow in a glare as she turns her head up to look at him while still pressing down on the blood flow. Her hands are stained crimson and so is her dress, but all she can think about is how insensitive Mantle’s being. “Reginald, he—”

Archibald murmurs something then. The crowd huddled around them falls silent, every set of eyes flickering down the boy who might not make it through the night.

“Arch?” Brooke mumbles, his childhood nickname falling off her lips. “What…what did you say?”

This time, he murmurs louder. His voice is hoarse and his eyes are fighting to stay open, but he looks directly at her when he says it. “M…Monster. Men turning to w…wolves…back to men…”

And there it is. The big grand reveal. Brooke feels her heart stop at that moment. They say the truth will set you free, but all she can feel in that moment is the crushing fear that stems from this coming out. Wolves and man, one and the same. Wolves and man, responsible for the many murders that have haunted their village over the course of a frigid winter. Jason, Dilton, Ben, Midge, Kurtz, Svenson. All fell to the hand — claw — of the beast, the shapeshifter, the werewolf.

The monster.

She can hear every story the elders have ever told, can see the wolfsbane woven in the Blossom girl’s hair, can feel the grief that radiates off of Old Mrs. Doiley. For everyone in Riverdale has heard the tales.

Including Reginald Mantle.

Fury licks across his features, dark eyes almost turning black in rage as Andrews’ confession sinks in for him. Monster. It’s the only echoing in his mind as anger burns through him. A monster, in his village, killing his friends and people.

“I knew it!” he sneers, getting to his feet faster than Brooke was aware anyone could move. His foot kicks out, sending a chair sailing across the room. “I knew the second that Blossom died it wasn’t just some ordinary wolf. There’s some fucked up creature running around our village killing people!”

It’s a bold claim he’s making, Brooke notes, saying that he knew. He was one of the ones who went into Fox Forest after Jason died looking for a wolf, an ordinary wolf. But Reginald, he always has to appear ten steps ahead because he has something to prove.

“This ends now,” he thunders, hand tossing out to gesture at where Archibald’s barely clinging to life. “These monsters already killed enough of us and tonight they tried to take Andrews too. But I say no more. No more death. No more monsters!”

He’s met with a round of cheers, mostly from older northern men and his friends. No one notices the way that the table of men who just entered the bar not too long before Archie say nothing. Forsythe watches with cold, calculating eyes. Nathan watches with a blank expression, arms crossed. But that’s overpowered by the way of the ones following Reginald’s lead.

Anger seems to flare through the bar like a stroke of lightning, men angrily scowling and clenching their fists. Archibald’s blood flow seems to be slowing down a bit and it’s that fact that lets Brooke focus more on what’s happening around her. With so few words, Reginald has seemed to instill fury into those around her. A domino effect of anger, fear of the creature turning into the need to destroy what’s different.

“What should we do?” Mason asks, narrowed eyes turning to Reginald. Other’s follow suit, people looking to Mantle as if his word is law.

For a moment, Mantle says nothing, deep in thought. And then all at once, it seems to come to him. His eyes narrow. Clambering up onto a table, raising his fist in the air, Reginald shouts. “I say we kill the beast!"

He’s met by more cheers. A mob seems to be forming, for there is a beast on the loose. In some sense, it only makes sense for the wolf to be hunted. It’s caused chaos and strife and pain and grief and it needs to end. This winter cannot go on with so much red staining the white snow. People will not be able to live if they are afraid.

Fear is a powerful thing. It makes people do stupid things or it can make them do horrible things. Riverdale is a village that’s filled with so much fear. So what stupid or horrible thing will they do with it?

Brooke has an idea of how it will go, thoughts fueled by everything she’s ever known from stories. The tales always go the same way, follow the same structures and patterns. The death comes first, it always comes first. But then the full moon rises again and the people, they’re ready now. Ready to face their fears and the monsters. The beast is discovered. The beast is killed. But what happens when there’s more than one wolf and only one is a monster? What then becomes of the wolf who does nothing more than protect his loved ones?

Across the bar, through crowds of angry men, Brooke’s eyes lock with Sweet Pea’s. This time, there’s no sexual charged daydreams. There’s only fear.

Fear for him. It blossoms in her chest, sprouting from the seedlings of fear she carried for him every day. It’s sad to say, but it’s almost as if Brooke’s been waiting for this to happen.

For this is how it starts. A man, a wolf, a moon. A list of murders not at his hand or his pack, but ones that will surely be placed upon them if they’re discovered.

A man, a wolf, a moon. The woman who loves him and a village full of men who wish to destroy him.